


Relief

by Actually_A_Tree



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Eating Disorders, Everything about this is unhealthy, Nonsense, Triggers, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 11,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_A_Tree/pseuds/Actually_A_Tree
Summary: I am here. Are you?





	1. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello?

Do I know you?

I tap the screen once, then again. But the only thing that comes through are words, fragile strings of black arranged into neat shapes and lines. More than anything, I want to be heard. I know that all that will come through are nonsensical thoughts, hopes, dreams, visions....

I will try.

Will you listen to me? I want to know you.


	2. Him

He’s yelling again. Snarling and yowling away, but we all know that He is the human one here. I am just a figment of my own imagination.

I can feel myself still, the movement and the sense of the keyboard beneath my touch. _Tap, tap, tap, click, click, click, tap, tap, tap_. Everything is there, but I am not.

I am not there, because I am falling. I can feel my stomach in an eternal drop, like when the rollercoaster tips over the edge and lets go. Each bump and coil sends me careening, scrambling to keep my brain together. And all through it- the clanking of the un-oiled ride, the rush of the wind in my ears, the laughter of the other passengers- there He is. He curses me, again and again.

_Ugly._

_Boring._

_Moron._

_Imbecile._

_Mutt._

_Naughty pet._

_So ridiculous._

_You can’t save her._

_You can’t help him._

_You can’t even stop yourself._

_Pathetic._

_Pathetic._

_Pathetic..._

Sometimes, I’d just like a little silence.

 

 


	3. She

I like talking to her, most of the time.

She likes me, and I like her. We pass the time telling jokes and memories and imagining a world in which nothing existed. Then, I rise and she rises and we set again. Over and over, wishing for that moment in which we are strong enough to stop talking and begin doing.

Sometimes, we don’t talk. Those are the hard days. The days in which He has screamed away my lungs. I roll back and forth on the swivel chair, and she bounces up and down on the bed, springs pushing back on her weight. I wonder if she can feel it too. We sit in silence and stare through the window.

The window always draws our gaze. It shines with a natural light, as blinding as the sun itself. The eyes on the wall can’t look away either, seeing past the backward backyard and purple sky to the endless possibilities of the world from which we are shut away.

I like to peek over at her, ripping my focus from the mesmerizing brilliance. She is too far, wavering like a mirage. She won't look back.

 


	4. Perfect

Can you hear me, Perfect? 

I know you hurt, and I know you want to leave.

I know you try, and I know you dream.

I know you, but you don’t know me

So, Perfect, please don’t free me.

 

Perfect, cariña.

You stand off to the side.

Placed on a pedestal

on which you cannot hide

 

I fear your light,

but I can’t live in the dark.

I don’t want your past, kitten,

to put out that spark.

 

Perfect, they are at your door.

Perfect, each blow is now a chore.

Everyday, every hour, every floor.

Come with me, Perfect, and I’ll try to make you soar.

 

Perfect, everything is wilting.

Both fought, but Goliath won.

I want to hold you close as the world is tilting.

Facing into the glaring sun.

 

Put it down, Perfect. 

You’re still perfect to me.

Where are you pointing-?

Now you’re scaring me.

 

Perfect, believe in you.

Believe in that someday, when we both come through.

You with your alphabet, and I with my flu.

I'll believe in the day, for both me and you.

 


	5. Sugar Boy

G’morn, sugar boy.

Have you come to pay your dues?

You say that your parents

Have painted you blue.

 

I see your pain,

and I raise you up.

But what you want

Is far too abrupt

 

Afternoon, sugar boy.

The sun has begun to set.

But your words have hit home.

Blood has been let.

 

I see your pain,

and I raise you up.

But what you want

Is far too abrupt

 

Evening, sugar boy.

You're too sweet for me.

You ask me for more.

And I'm a sucker for flattery.

 

But your words are going sour.

And they reveal your heart.

There is no thought there.

Are you playing a part?

 

I see your pain,

and I raise you up.

But what you want

Is far too abrupt

 

Sugar boy, goodnight.

I'm not what you need. 

Please help me free you

from your desperate greed.

 

My jaw aches,

And blood trickles down my chin.

Our time is almost up,

and he still

won't

let

me

in.

 

 

 


	6. Snow

The snow whispers to me. The tiny flakes float endlessly in tiny blizzards around us, above us, below us, to my shoulder. They sit quietly on my fingertips for but a moment, leaving the most minuscule of scoldings and kisses before flitting to a darker place. 

 

One of them grazes my shoulder, tempting a secret from my lips. I am unable to prevent the quiet whispers within my throat from building, and they spill under my breath to surround the snow above. The smoke of unheard words burns the clarity of air, becoming cloudy mist. 

 

Another flake runs across my cheek, the sharp edges of its harsh, microscopic pattern brushing the skin with a sting. This one demands silence and thinks of only death. Angry words are left in its wake, translucent specks that make no impression on anyone but my bared face.

 

I wonder if the snow speaks to anyone else.

 


	7. Not Purple Girl

Without a doubt, the Purple Girl is the most beautiful thing I own. I like it best when she is at my side, looping her body around mine until nothing could separate us without the scalding of a burning sword. A sword tinged with toxins, bleeding into our wrists and minds and mouths until every touch is filled with mourning screams and agonizing sparks.

 

At that point, she wouldn't be my Purple Girl, but rather the thing that slithers within, coiled in shame at its own heated desires. It aims to someday stretch long into the moon from the depths of its burning, hopeful darkness. Yet it fears the world of stars, the blinding light and the glaring eyes. 

 

So, the thing continues to snake around my stomach and chest and down to my heart. It is crushed in the _boom-boom_ - _boom-boom_ of the organ until it is pumped in tiny bits that scorch through my blood. In the end, it poisons me inside. Where is my Purple Girl?

 

 

 


	8. Birds

I met a bird at school today

That I’ve watched for quite a while

She sings with the voice of an angel

and her intentions are equally vile 

 

 

Her wings are strong but blackened

They glisten like the blade of March

I fear her ailing allure

But I find much worse is her charge

  

There’s a starling that hangs behind

To whose reality I am blind

She listens, no doubt

Of which there's been a drought

But she belongs with her own kind

  

I saw the birds on a wire today

I watch them every day

They are not mine

I’m not on the same line

And soon they’ll fly away

 

 

 


	9. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three letters back

There are so many of them these day **S**. They're everywhere, squishy spheres that never blink but are always wet, blood **S** hot. Watching. I wish they would leave, but even as I turn aw **A** y, I can feel the pressure of the **I** r stares, blaz **I** ng into my entire body. 

I always avoid eye contact with those blown  **P** upils. Despite the unblemished colo **U** r of the wall, I notice the growing cracks around the eye, like the roots of a tree, digging further and further into the soil until nothing could remove it. They are impossibly big. I worry about what could be causing them.

I wonder what would happen if I were to poke o **N** e, push it and the terrible gaze of its source away. The pupils would be dilated beyond all reason. A th **I** n ring of colour still nearly glows f **R** om behind the darkness- a brilliant fuschia, lines of deep maro **O** n threaded between royal purple into a mezmerizing pattern. I have never seen it up close... is the wall around it was still clean, the stark beige of the paint broken but entirely un **S** tained by the orb of muscle implanted within?

_Or protruding out?_

I imagine that it would burst beneath my fingertip, spilling thick ooze, like saliva, onto my hand. It would stick to the walls. It would cover the ground. It would fill the room until I can longer breathe, drowning in my own faults and disgust. They would find me days later, my own eyes bulging out of my head and empty. Empty like the ones in the wall. The ones on the floor. The ones in the sky, and in my computer, and at my side. Watching.

 


	10. Fluff

I’m a jumble of string today. Nothing around me seems without fuzz, each thread wrapping around my mouth and legs. My eyes are beads, I’m sure- hard, unseeing, and unnecessary for anything but to look pretty. I look down, and all I see are loops over loops of yarn, tightening and scrambling into a mess of material that has no end. Sometimes, I fuzz out into tiny, tangible clouds. Thousands and thousands of knots and clouds and loops. Gentle. Muddled. Unsatisfactory.

Yes. Today, I feel hazy.

Maybe I’ve been stuffed? Full of cotton fluff, like a stuffed animal. Button eyes watching over and comforting small children. Soft, sweet, nostalgic until the end of its days. More likely, I’m a mounted head upon a wall, my taxidermist clear in the mirror placed across from me. It’s what I would deserve, after all- to be shot like an animal and treated as a trophy. No worth except as the pride of another. 

That makes sense.


	11. Legs and Hair

I looked down at my legs, and found that the hair that I once shaved down has grown back. It’s not the same length that it was before and, in fact, has turned a lighter shade. I decide that perhaps shaving should be left for special occasions, when there is far too much pressure to avoid it. I am also fascinated by the new colour, but perhaps I should avoid studying it- it would feel strange to only cut one hair at a time.

That is fine. Legs are more than just their hair, and certainly more than that hair’s colour.

Legs are good for walking and jumping and running. Days of big, low clouds with patches of blue and fields that stretch into forever. Legs are good for curling and coming closer. Days of sunrises with waves of pink and gold and streaks of baby-blue clouds over shadowed houses. Legs are good for swimming, tiptoeing, nudging an old friend under the table until dinner becomes a footsie war. Days when the world is infinite and the ground is solid. Leg hair doesn't matter on those days.


	12. something is wrong

 

Im obsessive

you see it when i speak

when i tack away at the computer

until my eyelids are weak

 

i might succumb to the darkness

but i cant stop, you see

there are things that keep me running

the things from which i flee

 

Thing 1 and thing 2

you know exactly who you are

i see your forms (shadows) in the corner

You're never truly far

 

Thing 3, 

you make much too little sound

you creep upon me in the night

Please don't make me drown

 

Thing 4, I feel you in my hands

There is more I must complete

why do i bother to protest 

that it is time to sleep

 

thing 5, the fear the fear the fear

Theres something near

Theres something near

 

just focus on the screen

and everything will be fine

dont look or think or breathe or blink

until sleep frees you from your confines


	13. What People Like

People like you when you agree with them

People like you when you have similar ideas as them

People like you when you have the same experiences as them

People like you when you pay attention to them

People like you when you don't show any opinions but theirs

People like you when you talk nice about them

People like you when you only talk about them 

People like you when you do everything they tell you to

People like you when you obey without question

People like you when you don't talk back

People like you when you don't make excuses

People like you when you serve them

People like you when you never talk about yourself

People like you when you don't have a personality

People like you when you show all the right emotions

People like you when they don't have to think about you 

People like you when you benefit them

People like you when you don't matter

People like you when you don't exist

Make sure people like you


	14. Calm after the storm

Here's something light to brighten your day

A day after a heartbreak?

Hear me, _s'il vous plaît_

This isn't the end

You can find someone better, someone new, someone stronger to say

_"I love you."_

Just something light to brighten the day

 

Here's something light to brighten your day

A day of loss?

A stone on the ground, but skies refuse to be grey

They are long gone, but if you stay here

You'll see that you have your own part to play

Just something light to brighten the day

 

Here's something light to brighten your day

A day after anger?

Friend, you _don't_ deserve any pain

Know that you are brave and worth more than you know

Survive to see your own victories during the rain

because someone cares

Just something light to brighten the day

 

Here's something light to brighten your day

A day without breath?

Step back and just think away

Your fear, your worry, they will not be your death.

Say, "Not today,"

 

 

Just something light to brighten the day


	15. Water

Water comes after the rain. It is clear, dripping and collecting into tiny bubbles that contain new worlds inside. Each drop reflects the larger world onto itself from the metal of a pole, the wood of a fence, the glass of a windowshield. Stark but distorted almost beyond recognition.

We like the rain, the water, the cold. It shatters and fills again, a thing renewed. When there are clouds in the skies, she and I hold out bowls and wait. When the rims threaten collapse under the torrent, we pour it down each others' heads. The water gathers in the cracks and leaks down and through until we are melting ice sculptures, standing alone in the rain. It pools in my eyes, and the world seems further away, far across the oceans. Then, the salt corrodes my pupils and burns. I have to blink. By then, my oceans are contaminated with shadows and blood, and they fall in rivers down my throat. I choke on my god-forsaking flood, the horrors of my poison in the water. Then, when I am no longer ice but mist, I blink. I glance at her frosting throat. We await the next rainfall.


	16. Dependence

we began a long time ago

long before anyone else we know

when the days were long

and every song

was one that made us glow

 

you always had far too much hair

it filled my lungs and stole my air

i couldnt breathe

i couldnt see

at least, not without you there

 

together we spent a million days

together we saw the blues and greys

running in the dark

hide-and-seek in the park

but not everything stays

 

I lost you to Him 

and the skies went dim

tell me 

who i am 

without you?

 

i missed you

i missed you

i had nowhere to go

but what's there to know

when home ran you through?

 

i said, "no,

that cannot be true.

i must be something else

than a part of you."

 

so i grew

and grew

and grew and grew and grew

I tried my best to be happy for you

 

I made new friends

and they all like me

But why don't they compare to what we used to be?

 

You've been silent so long

I've made so many mistakes

i wasn't sure how much more I could take

 

 

It's not over

but you're home- that's a start

I want to make up

for the time we spent apart

 

j'taime


	17. Please Stop

He's shouting in my ear again and everything is far too loud, too bright. A spotlight has turned on me as I run from the smiling prison. I have been caught. 

I woke with a sheet over my face, only lightly muting the ghastly surgical lights glaring in my eyes. I try to turn away, only to feel the antiseptic-scented leather around my neck and the sound of a river below. I can hear the screams and feel ghostly hands grazing and slipping from my own into the current. A million pounds of fuzz fills me, and the world fades from bright to merely muted. The sheet protects me from where I feel certain his face is, but I can no longer bring myself to feel fearful. Or angry. Or anything. The world is tinged yellow, like the pages of an old book forgotten in the sun. 

I see a tiny shadow flutter by my eyes, stopping only for a moment as I feel small claws dig into the sheet over my stomach. I feel no pain until I hear the shadow begin to sing. Then, the sheet is no longer enough to protect me- I am filled with fluff on fire, scalding everything until I can think of nothing but that filthily pleasant birdsong. The spirits are deafening now, harmonizing with the flying shadow, and I hear his voice joining in. I struggle, the leather strap around my neck preventing me from escape from the madness that I have once again found. I cannot become one of the choir.


	18. Stars and Stone

 

The stars wind through the stone, flickering and spreading their light in the cracks of every wall. Some try and go over the maze. Some succeed. The rest of them have to find their own way.

  
Someday, they will implode and explode into a million colours for the world to see (but never listen). Often, the many twinkling pinpricks of light reach their destination, rounding the final bend of solid grey. Every dead end is different, filled with warmth and icicles, flowers and weeds, space and matter. In these tiny but beautiful secluded moments the stars finally reach... something.

  
I am not one of them, but I watch from afar. I love the colours, the light, the silence. I like to nudge the stars onto new paths, parts of the infinite labyrinth that they've never seen before. They float seemingly aimlessly, but I know they are looking for their something with sparks in their hands, galaxies in their eyes, brilliance in their faces.

  
I followed a star once and tried to look inside the dead end. I stuck out a limb and thought if I wondered hard enough I could maybe get it in. But I feared that once I went inside, I would never return to the brighter place. As always, the fear reigned me back from the walls of the maze and drew a world for me to hide myself in. I am forever curious, but the wall I felt instead of an entrance knows better. I breathe, hands woven into tendrils of trailing luminescense as the stars drift along. 


	19. Smoke

My lungs are filled with smoke

My breath catches and I begin to choke

I reach for the knife

To slice out the gas

but its only the fire that i will stoke

 

i drown in the blood

and she is with me in the flood

the gold and the blades

are one but not the same

but we will soon rise from the mud

 

i fear the smiles

but she who aches as a child

looks down at me

and frowns

and i have failed my trial

 

i dance with the dark

and she watches, bite less than her bark

i am far and close

from her skeleton eyes

for her words still leave a mark

 

i shiver in the sun

but they keep from coming undone

so i close my eyes

take a breath

and run


	20. Thin

I knew a girl who was very thin

and if you took up her arm, you could see right in

to the cold that ran through her bones

and the hollow sound that echoed in her tone

 

I think about it far too much today

about all the things that I would say

in those times we'd look at her empty plate

and even that was more than she ate

  

I hated her look of disgust and fear

everytime food came near

where the only thought was how to burn

every calorie eaten in turn

 

She would jump and run and shout and shake

until every part of her would ache

but still it just was not enough

and until she could get rid of the stuff

 

Kneeling over the bathroom basin

next to the scale she was always facing

but as bile dripped down her chin

how much further would she go just to be thin?


	21. Liar, Liar

Liar, liar

pants on fire

how does your garden grow?

 

grown from ashes

made from the sashes

of honest words now below

 

i am a gardener

and a very good partner

in bringing you down too low

 

i ~~hate~~ love my power

let's build my towers

and the garden will grow


	22. Warm

Where I am, it is warm. The world is filled with colour- pastel blues, rainforest greens, and brilliant, brilliant purples, every single hue lighting up into a dancing scene. I stretch my hand out uncertainly, and something brushes the tips of my fingers. Something warm and soft. I scramble, and there is a giggly flurry in the mad dash for a single touch. But nothing else matters once I am found.

Fingers cross fingers as elation covers our face.

Knuckles covered with strands of lace.

Palms resting against palms as everything falls into place. 

We are dancing! Dancing as though the world has ceased to see us. Fingers looped tightly, feet echoing in the quiet world, flying away into the thousands of colours until everything has become nothing and our nothing is everything. We are ourselves when we are together, stronger and more beautiful than anything ever, ever. Hearkened into gold and platinum through a glassblower until we are complete and still learning. This is the colourful world. Anything is possible.


	23. Love

Roses are red

violence turns us blue

you could hit me

and id still love you

 

 


	24. The Vault of Secrets

Voz: Hello? Secret Keeper IV?

 

Voz: You've come to see a vault? That's good to know, what can I show to you?

Voz: There's 1-3 for lover's dreams and 4-9 for desires lost in time.

Voz: 10- 16 hold words we truly mean. And, of course, 17-23 are reserved for memories, you see-

 

Voz: Oh?

Voz: There's more to it than you know?

Voz: Oh, you mean the one just below. The vault that nobody likes. Let's move on, ignore the spikes.

 

Voz: They aren't ours to wield.


	25. Power

She is Power. She rises above everything until the sky cowers- in fear or loyalty, we'll never know. Nobody dares to defy Power. 

A dress snarling around her ankles with every measured step, heels clacking with perfect rhythm on a wooden floor. Every room is silent, ready to bow to her growl. She is a watchdog for the darker one, but her strength is nothing to scorn. 

Lips stained dusty pink with snow and blood and a tongue that slices through any argument hold her fast in place. Eyes that tell a million contradicting stories all containing only the tiniest sliver of truth. Skin addictively cool to the touch, but sparks when the clouds come. 

There is nothing she likes more than a good fog, filling the air with grey until the world could be burning and nobody would see. Stories wrap around your head and tighten until the blood flow stops and only Power remains. 

Don't look. Nobody dares to defy Power.


	26. The Bone Tree

The tree is white and grows in the most unusual of places. I find it in the corner of my eye on the corner of the block, or on the side of the highway, or in the middle of a room. I don't understand where it comes from, but at least it is quiet. Of course it's quiet, it's a plant. I think. 

I never get a good look at the tree, but I know every detail. It is only as tall as me, with every branch arching with certainty until an abrupt end. When I asked about the tree, they said that it is only a dream, and to stay away from it. But when I forget a thought, I cannot help but chase after it. 

The tree eats cats. I know, because one day I saw the tree in someone's fence, somehow merging with the dead wood unfazed. Amongst tiny orange splinters and the occasional nail, dots of darkening blackish-orange covered the tips of the branches. Ivory spotted with blood. A single cat paw was hung by a string of intestines and glistened with a drooling, black substance. I wonder if the person ever found the real cat. It's a good thing they have nine lives.


	27. Hear No Evil

The ocean extends long into the distance, a silent breeze sending smooth ripples along a glassy surface. The sand is prickly beneath the feet, shifting underneath as weight is moved from side to side. Soon, the feet are buried in the grains. But the sand doesn't stop. The legs are devoured next, then the arms, still reaching out to the onlooking sunset. Tiny rocks fall on deaf ears until nothing remains. Whispers gather with the sand and water begins to fill in any leftover space. Quiet drowning. The head has been covered, and now it must be filled. Whispers gather in the mind like spiders from the edge of the web. Their chattering of excitement creates an impenetrable static. They fight, contradict, and shout. Too much. Too much.

_Selfish?_ _Guilt... Bad! No! Angry! Fault- fault- fault. More._ _Kill._ _Who?_ _Me! Experiment, deserve. Now. Future._ _You!_ _Mine, mine, mine._ _Selfish. Yes. No..._

Feet, legs, arms, head, crushed into tiny bits as they fall again. Now they fill. Water and damp sand drop in clumps into a wet pile in the center of the glass. Looking up, the top is still full. The body will die before the sand has stopped. When the whispers go silent, stifled by their own sound. When the sound of the ocean waves can no longer be heard.


	28. See No Evil

Eyes open. No ears, no tongue (sliced). Watch.

She works at her desk, desperately scribbling nonsense across a sheet of paper. She is so close. Eyes droop, reach for the coffee. The coffee is cruel, like the taste of bile and iron. Not enough.

Pencil down. Stand and leave the desk.  Have to keep working. No more nonsense. Enough tears. No more friends. No more distractions. Be stronger. Finish the job. Keep working.

She is talking, but no words can be heard. Fingers scratch down her cheeks and plunge far into her throat, but nothing is enough anymore.  Suddenly, an unnatural smile stretches across her face as the clock hits midnight. Finally, finally, finally. A plastic expression covers her devastation. The loneliness will finally end. She walks toward the window. Work can wait until after.

Falling. Air. Splat.

 

_Watch. Rewind. Repeat._


	29. Speak No Evil

"Can you help me?"

Clarity. World is in focus, but lacking in colour. Where did the blue go? Has my sunset dripped clear? Stand, steady feet, unsteady head. Devoid of emotions and thought. Follow the script or we will get lost. Follow the script before all has been lost. 

Knock, knock. Need to get to home. Where is home? Won't know until we know where we are. Truth? Uncertain. Follow the script or we will get lost.

Door opens. Ask for help. "Hello. Can you help me?" Nobody there? Empty doorframe, look down.

Child. Haha...

Blink.

Child. Lips forced up in a strained, unnatural grin, sewn shut with thread. Eyes ripped out with sockets still oozing down dark cheeks. Ears carved into strange symbols, although someone has chopped off on the right in frustration. Red, red, everywhere. Just red. 

Child's hand drops, and door slams shut. Something lumpy. Open fist and take a look. A single, carefully sliced ear.


	30. Wandering star

Hold me down, and pull me through

as we dance among the stars

a frantic quickstep past the moon

Don't look back, we've gone too far

 

Your clear eyes are smiling

With a flare brighter than the sun

We do our best, we're trying

on our little rock on the run

 

I know you better than I know me

We're as close as the

Sky and sea

 

 

I know there is something out there

that's pulling at your 

atmosphere

 

I'll make all the waves I can bear

Please, I'd say, stay with

me right here

 

You know me better than

I know you

Maybe someday I'll finally

follow through

 

We're going under,

just me and the stars

Please don't look back, dear,

You've gone way too far

 

Let me down, and go on through

as you dance among the stars

spare not a glance at the moon

Don't look back, you've gone too far


	31. Closing Doors

The demons look at us

and laugh

But they laugh behind closed doors

 

The elders watch our footsteps

and frown

but they frown behind closed doors

 

The false leaders shove

and shout

but they shout behind closed doors

 

The liars, the thieves, the leeches snarl at us

and snatch

but they snatch at a closed door

 

but why is it that

 

we scream at the world

and curse its workings

but we remain behind closed doors

 

we are not demons

or elders

or superiors

or liars, or thieves, or leeches

 

we are children opening our eyes

and fighting to be freed

from those that would rather we bleed

 

we are the scholars holding locked books

with unsung secrets of the past

not bothering to wait to see how long the war will last

 

we are the warriors and the artists

wielding and welding

shielding and shedding

the fallacies of the passive departed

 

we are the dying

pounding our shattered chests

giving a speech of strength

rising to be just as good as the rest

 

we are the future

we deserve their attention and their respect

we are as mighty as the others were

and what did they expect?

 

so

 

The people may stay the same

and retreat back the way they came through

But we will say,

"Close the door behind you."

 

 

 


	32. Solitude

Solitude is watching the raindrops slither down a cool window pane and collect in tiny rivulets across the glass. The silence is broken only by the occasional bangs on the door behind, shouts muted by mind and water. 

Solitude is wrapping an arm around the neck of a friend and laughing into the circle of chatter, talking animatedly about the things none of us have in common. The space between words is poisoned by the pressures pinching our necks and the alienation scratching at our arms.

Solitude is staring into the oblivion screaming overhead as an invisible fan turns endlessly through the night. The shrunken shadows stare from the corner, and together we wonder what is wrong. 

What is wrong with my heart that makes me feel as empty as space.   
What is wrong with my head that notices that something is missing, but makes no effort to search.   
What is wrong with me?


	33. Full

Perhaps it was the meals I had beforehand that week that made me feel so full. So tired, so angry, so frustrated with myself over every failed day and every failing bit of food. It was getting to be too much, to the point where throwing away lunch wasn't enough. Breakfast ended quickly too, and the dinners faded to the least I could fit on my plate with the fewest questions asked. 

It finally hit, and even He didnt see it coming. Nobody did, until my mouth suddenly turned sour in a way I hadn't felt since the sycamore. Before I knew it, I had excused myself and was skittering down the hall. The next second, the bathroom, as everything finally came pouring out. 

There was so much sugar, so much blood that I couldn't tell what was there and what wasn't. I was empty, and yet overflowing inside the pathetic bathroom stall, hoping that I wouldn't get caught with my badge still dangling from a belt loop. 

I heard voices, but they sounded fake. Or maybe they weren't. Maybe there are angels and devils reporting me to their mistresses at this moment to scoop me up and turn me to dust. There would be so much dust, glowing with the rage and agony of coming back to this hell that I'd abandoned for a stomach. I'd fly away with the wind and return back to this place of bile and vision and stare passively at what remained of my body and that stomach, still sneering with burning eyes and a sticky sweet tongue. 

There is too much of me now, and there would be too much of me then. Need to get it out. Get stronger. Get in control. Then, perhaps, I will finally stop seeing my body dangling over the drain like a useless pet fish.


	34. Mariposas y Cristal

Cuando estrecho mis brazos, puedo sentir la sensación de las mariposas sobre mis manos. Bailan entre los dedos y por el aire, a veces esperando por un momento en mi pelo. Si muevo mi cabeza, todos aletean en agitación sin ruido, como los espíritus.

Mis amigos pequeños conversan por el espacio por mis oídos, y el ruido mudo me calma. Sus alas ocultan el mundo más grande- todo que puedo ver son las formas coloradas sin bordes. Entonces, mi visión se convierte en una vista de los colores y la luz, como un vitral de la iglesia. Pero aquí, en mi santuario, mis espíritus revolotean por cientos tras cientos del campo. Juntos, volaremos en un frenesí de cristal roto.


	35. Starlight

It's her turn.

I've known her for years, my only friend from years ago. If I close my eyes, I can almost see the sun-splotched field as we sit together on the benches. If I shut out the sounds, I can hear her laughter, a strangely comforting snort-giggle that billows into a series of bright notes echoing into the air. We used to talk about everything that didn't matter: books and wings and the like. We used to plan fantastic futures, travelling to magical worlds beyond even our young imaginations. 

Perhaps, if I hold her hand tight enough, I can return to those worlds with her and forget that she is bleeding out in my arms. Dreams and light drip like rubies from her mouth as she hacks again, and I force myself to relax my grip. She seems to regain focus away from her agony for a moment, and looks up at my face. I try to smile through my quickly melting face. I want her to be happy. I have to be happy for her. Tears scrape down my attempted facade as I see her expression. Even though I am right in front of her, her gaze remains blank when she looks at me. Her eyes are lucid for the first time since I found her, but there's no recognition in her face. 

"Who are you?" 

My smile falls. "Don't move," I say, trying to keep my voice soft and without the panic I can feel building in my throat. "I won't hurt you, but I can't save you."

There is nobody to help, and I am simply watching the thing that used to be my friend seep away into the staining ground. 

I want to grab myself by the shoulders. Do something! My hand is covered in blood as I reach with my free hand and lace my fingers with hers. A familiar touch. I just want us to be home. Let me wake up. A few moments- hours- years pass, and everything is quiet. 

Then, I feel her chest spasm. Once, twice, thrice. Four times. Five. 

Stillness.

I am burning alive, heat and salty tears joining blood covering my hands as I desperately search for an exit. My throat stings as I shriek to whoever will hear.

My star is dead. My star is dead. My star is dead. My star is dead!

I can't stop myself from screaming. From checking her heartbeat. From grabbing her chin and trying to open her eyes. No. No. NO. Please, please, please... Wails are sounding in my head, but I can't figure out how to escape. Instead, I clutch the body closer, try to keep the warmth in. I just want to hold her hand a bit longer. I just want to laugh with her one more time. I...

I look down at this corpse in my arms and lay it down. Strange, why was I hugging a dead body? Do I know them? Looking closer... and I still have no idea. The person's hair seems to be fairly matted with the blood, so it'll be a bit hard if I have to identify them for the police, but their face is sweet. Perhaps the kind of person I'd want to be friends with. Shame. I turn around and get ready to leave, and wonder if I'm forgetting something important.


	36. Truths from the Outside

there's a quiver to my step  
and a tremble to my   
high  
held  
chin  
because I can feel  
that I am wearing   
someone   
else's   
skin

They like to think  
that they're good  
but   
that's because I would hate to sink  
the great mood

They live their lives  
on the outside   
with a glass   
in hand  
and buzzing around like flies

theres a quiver to my step  
and a tremble to my   
high  
held  
chin  
because I can feel  
that I am wearing   
someone   
else's   
skin

I'd like to think  
that I'm strong  
but   
that's because I'm weak  
and I'm wrong

I live my life   
on the outside  
with a knife  
in hand  
and illusions at my side

theres a quiver to my step  
and a tremble to my   
high  
held  
chin  
because I can feel  
that I am wearing   
someone   
else's   
skin

where's my captain   
because this ship is going down  
but these wings are rusting  
we never even left the ground

where's my pilot  
because my plane is nearing shore  
but the engines are still silent  
what have we been trying for?

theres a quiver to my step  
and a tremble to my   
high  
held  
chin  
because I can feel  
that I am wearing   
someone   
else's   
skin


	37. Holding A Breath

we are holding our breath

waiting for the past

it is killing me

we are straying from the path

hoping to find the rest

I've walked off a cliff

 

we are drowning in our own tears

and nothing seems to help

Can't swallow away our fears

Ankles tied down with kelp

 

we are punching a wall

in hopes that we'll finally feel safe

And my heart just sinks

we are screaming into a void

thinking we'll finally be heard

but nobody will come

 

Tell me, tell me,

How can we make it stop?

Everything is tense and far too bright

we keep waiting for the other shoe to drop

Hear me, hear me,

help us to our feet

Show us that our worries are ghosts

so I can let us all be free

 

because I am holding my breath

and straying from the path

may the world keep turning

may the stars keep burning

maybe, just maybe, we'll last


	38. Milk

The milk is sour, I'm sure of it this time. It's turned purple with strange spores, or blue with some poison targeting my sister. It's a good thing I caught it in time (at least, that's what some of the voices say. The rest of them want me to finish off the jug).

  
The world is slightly pinker than usual, and I fear that the clouds from last night are bleeding into the skies today.

  
You reassure me, reaching out to the moon and taking each of our hands. We are off, you and I and the stars. I want to believe that it is enough, and perhaps it is. This cotton candy color tinting my eyes is nothing more than my own joy.

  
But perhaps your touch is _not_ enough. My anxieties carry me off with the moon to a place where your taste cannot reach. I hold onto a tree, but the plastic branch simply waves in the wind as I ascend into the clouds of the night before.

  
It's the milk, I realize. It is turning in my stomach. I want- hope- _need_ \- **_try_** to reach down my throat and wash out my mouth. It is sickening, and so am I. The rainbows are burning bridges to your love, but I am tied to the bitter flavor on my tongue.

  
I was right, I suppose. I always am. Stay away from the milk.


	39. Golden Day

The window is open, and our fingers our intertwined as we stare in comfortable silence into the garden beyond. Her smile is soft, the edges of her eyes crinkling up in a moment of contentment I haven't seen in a very long time.

I close my eyes, and I can see past her illusion. I am alone, yes. But today I will not be lonely. The roses sway in time to the birds' busy chirps. Sunlight casts delicate shadows across the bold red chairs in the corner. Nobody has sat in those chairs for some time, but we know that they are not empty, filled by flower petals and memories. Beneath them, a tiny colony of ants prepares to explore the jungle of the yard, disappearing into the blades of grass. The skies distract my eye from the creatures' journey: fluffy clouds chasing each other in cheerful puffs along an endless expanse of pale blue. 

I feel movement beside me, and so I turn and shut an eye. She is gazing at me, her expression slightly sad, as if watching a dying relative. _Unacceptable_. I nudge her and she laughs again, wide eyes winking shut for a moment. I will not be so easily drowned on such a golden day, and neither will she.


	40. Aware

Sometimes I am far too aware that I am not real. It is a strange feeling, like reading a child's story that ends with far too much finality. 

"And then, they woke up."

But that awakening hurts far more than a sentence could ever reveal from the surface. To face oneself with full knowledge that there is only a ghost inside and outside the mirror? It is difficult to believe at first. 

Then, it becomes incorporated as a state of perspective. Once you become aware of something, the awareness never truly goes away. The touches start to become more startling. The looks seem to pass right through. The words sound far away, in the next room over. Or the next. Perhaps in a whole new world entirely. After all, how is it that a person can be seen but not noticed?

The noticing is a suprisingly large factor, as well. It makes existence seem arbitrary, relative. As though your own presence only  _is_ when other people react to it. 

Then it enters the mind and actions. If I don't exist, then perhaps neither does what I do. I could die and not one person would blink an eye. They'd see me on the roof and think,  _what a lovely day_.

It is only when I finally walk by my reflection that I realize that, yes, there is someone there. Someone that is showing my reactions. That is feeling my emotions. That is touching, and feeling, and experiencing the world. That is making an impact, even if only on a wall of brighter drawings.

I sink back in. I take up space. The world moves with my presence and the presence of thousands, millions, billions of other people. With so many people to know, it is difficult to exist all the time in everyone's eyes. But the eyes that reflect my face matter. Of what importance is it that I don't exist sometimes?


	41. i just wanna

Frankly, I could use a hand right now

because there's something weighing me down

and honestly, I've been meaning to say

that i need to go away

 

but it's not your fault

i swear to you

it's just that i have 

some things to do

 

so I'll put on my broken mask

and do a dance for the laughing crowds

please don't look, and please don't ask

i just wanna make you proud

 

...

 

Truth is, I don't know where I am

in this place of lopsided daisies

and really, I'm worried you're a sham

like when the moon and sun switch places

 

but it's not your fault

i swear to you

it's just that i have 

some things to do

 

so I'll put on my broken mask

and do a dance for the laughing crowds

please don't look, and please don't ask

i just wanna make you proud

 

...

 

i just wanna make you smile

and laugh away your pain

I just wanna change your mind

because you are not the one to blame

i just wanna hold your hand

and watch the clouds go by

so just give me a chance

and we'll fly 

right

out

of here

 

...

 

and it's not your fault

i swear to you

it's just that i have 

some things to do

 

and it's not your fault

i swear to you

it's just that i have 

some things to do

 

so I'll put on my broken mask

and do a dance for the laughing crowds

please don't look, and please don't ask

i just wanna make you proud


	42. Chapter 42

There's something to be said for

a little more love in life

But I often find the reward 

is worth less than the strife

 

Why haven't you 

gotten rid of me yet?

I hurt with every

aching step

but you keep coming around again

 

wash the hands

clawing at my neck

cause the infections

are keeping me sick

 

and i know

that you're stronger than me still

so i'll try 

to shovel sand into the hole you can't fill

to open my mouth a little wider

till I'm filled webs and the occasional spider

 

why haven't you

cut me off yet?

I'm sucking in

every wet breath

but you keep coming around again

 

wash the hands

clawing at my chest 

till the wounds

are simply painless


	43. nirvana

hello sun  
it's a lovely day out today  
and I'm already wishing my heart away

hello sky   
I can't help wondering why   
that i need  
to cling to the things I've already tried

my nirvana has  
fallen on an unfortunate day  
my delicate plans  
are just now flying away

but I guess  
that's okay

Hello love  
You look wonderful today  
and I'm already wishing my heart away

Hello hands  
I can feel you digging in  
holding on  
to the many things I've already done

My nirvana has  
fallen on an unfortunate day  
my fragile sands   
are just now falling away

but i guess  
that's okay

I'll just wish my heart away


	44. On Lighthouse Beach

The frozen sand melts between my toes as I look into the golden sunset. I am waiting for someone, although I am not sure who. 

She is a person still shrouded by hair and words, obscuring everything but hands from sight. When she arrives, the snow has begun to fall, and her wings huddle closer to her body. Her fingers twitch in the cold, but she does not shiver. When she sits by me, I am no more warmer than before, but I am certainly less alone. 

When she opens her mouth, the sounds of clipped, silvery violins spill into her throat. So, instead, her words are carefully crafted into tiny, smooth stones. They glisten with fallen snow and change from hues of purple, grey, and green in her hands. When she is barely satisfied with her work, the pebbles flee into the ocean. They skip along the waves, whispering regret with every skip and jump. 

We are close, curious, but falter before any movement, as though any one grain of sand could snag and drag away the other forever. We exchange pebbles, my dull green ones for her charmed purples. We create tiny cities in the snow, hoping that the gold of the sunset will drop to the ground and enlighten us both. To what? To the snow, to her single healing wing, to the faded emeralds and sparking magentas? Neither of us know. She lays down another tentative stone. 

In our sight, the waves flow as dark as always. Beyond them, her lighthouse blinks balefully in the distance at the lingering, white horizon. It is looking at something I might never see. 

Snow falls, silver flecks winking against the fool's gold in the sand.


	45. Where the Light is

A girl lies on her stomach in the middle of a room. The details are blurred, but numerous: a cuckoo clock with tiny black eyes ticks away behind a short bookshelf. A bright pink dollhouse waits patiently in the corner. The rug beneath the girl is round and woven into soft tones of pink and yellow and white. Beside her, an older woman, perhaps in her late thirties or sixties, reads a book in a rocking chair.

The room is bright, clean, and emits a barely noticeable warmth. There are neither lights nor windows.

The small girl, a princess of only eight years, hums a quiet tune to herself as she paints. Her brush glides in short sweeps across the book. The paper is blank except for two large boxes that she fills with fantastic pictures of crashing waves. They are the startling color of an ocean she has never seen.

As her dripping brush splays, arcs, and rises again from the white paper, the girl looks up at the older woman.

"This isn't really real, is it?"

The older woman lowers her book to peer at the princess. She smiles warmly.

The room begins to flicker in and out of view. When it is there, the girl is still surrounded by toys and the watchful eye of the woman. When it is gone, she is alone in a cell covered in white. Light streams from buzzing lights above. There are still no windows.


	46. Hood

Everything about this one is somehow in sight and just out of reach. 


	47. Slave

I leap over the banister of the staircase and sprint up the black metal, already out of breath. The elevator doors open, and I shove the gate closed, pressing the buttons multiple times before the elevator begins to rise. There are no walls in the contraption to protect me: if I were flung to the side, the concrete walls would surely catch and pull off my tattooed arm with far too many squeaks. As it is now, the shrill noises of the elevator are already loud enough to alert my pursuers. I breathe heavily and clench my shaking fists tighter. 

The moment the elevator dings, a hollow and falsely-bright sound, I scramble out. However, I am stopped within two feet by the edge of the building. The walls around the perimeter of the roof are only a few feet high, and I look over them on sheer instinct. 

It's a long way down.

Below me, I can see the entire city: ramshackle buildings, barely held together with sticks and sheets and shouting people. The grid of the shops and houses glows dimly in the night and extends far into the horizon. Shadows of mountains loom in the distance beneath the smattering of galaxies twinkling in the sky.

I hear clanging and screeching as the elevator behind me descends for its next clients. They are coming. The decision is mine: will I live as another filthy repeat, or die a damn freeperson like the siblings?

I take a deep breath, and then run and jump over the walls of the roof.


	48. Spindle

Spindle. That's ~~my~~ our name today. 

I woke up to listlessly whirring fans and utter darkness as my eyes adjusted to the low light. In the thick pitch, I saw a figure rising from the chair and staring at me. Its eyes were huge and surrounded by drooping circles. It was only when it stretched out its hand and tilted its misshapen head to the side that I realized I was looking into my own reflection.

But how could this be? This creature was so utterly tall, as though it had once been a reasonable shape and then pulled from both ends. Its limbs were straight and shapeless and dropped to the ground. In all the forms I had taken, was this not past the limit?

The fans spun for some time as the thing and I gazed at each other. And as it breathed in unison with time passing, the artificial winds blew away my confusion. All that was left was perfect silence, me, and Spindle.

Spindle and I.

I and Spindle.

Spindle and Spindle.

Just Spindle, looking dully one last time at its own reflection before stalking back to bed.


	49. Check-Up

Are you still there? I know it's been some time, but I just want to make sure you're still beating. I know that I can't hold your hand; I know that I can't brush back your hair, or smile and laugh at your jokes, or reach through the screen to hold you through your tears. But I'm here. That's what I can do. Let me be a pillar of clouds that rain to put out the fires burning your home. 

I am melting plastic, artificial in every way and with only a heart for a brain. You can look right past me and walk right through my chest. 

But that's fine with me as long as you are never the statue. I may be fake and hidden, but I am not yet frozen. I will not let you drop away. 

Please do not drop away.

Look, do you see them? The domes in the distance. The idols laugh at us through their fancy telescopes and television glasses. But they are further from us than anyone ever acknowledges. We are on the edge of something stronger, something that could flood them away. You and I will be the strength in the new city. Already the flames are dying and golden lilies are sprouting along the cliff. 

Come away from the brink so that I may see you. Come toward the edge so that you may join me in the glowing world. We are not all fire or earth or smiles. But we are hopeful, and we are together. Believe in yourself. Believe in us. Believe in me. We are the new flood, and we will wash away everything until only the glass reality remains. 

And we are enough.


	50. the current

there is something

ever so intoxicating

about running with a river

that's lost all doubt, every sliver

about being caught up in the tide

and feeling nothing but pride

in the rush

 

and every moment seems right

everything looks so bright

never look to your side

just enjoy the ride

because all that matters

is the laughing and the chatter

of the right now

 

but the moment you jump off

the world screeches to a halt

and body wracked with coughs

tongue tastes of iron and salt

and all round 

there are others just like you

and we've found

the real world, faded and blue

 

try and hop back on the train

get away from the too-real pain

but it won't stop

you run until you drop

and the stream marches on

until the very last one is gone

 

no more, you vow

and open your brochure

addicted to the rush now

when's the next departure?


	51. castillo (español)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cansado  
> mis ojos son vacíos  
> un día te sorprenderé  
> no te preocupes  
> :)

déjeme invitarte

a mi castillo de papeles

donde todos toman un papel

en nuestro mundo para escribir el universo

 

hay el señor allá

que habla de los días pasados

sus selvas de plata son miráculos de la imaginación

 

hay la señorita vieja que nunca mueve 

pero puede ver las estrellas 

en colores de la madera y de la rosa

las hojas vuelan

en su jardín de planetas

 

hay la sombra

que protegen los jóvenes y 

pintan ideas que chirrian con energía

y crean la realidad imposible

susurrar luces brillantes y el futuro

 

hay los monstruos

que producen el oro cuando lloran

su sangre cubre sus cuentos

pero 

nuestros dedos

nuestros ojos

saben que las palabras contienen más belleza cuando nadie puede verlas

cuando nadie puede vernos

 

c'est la vie

 

entonces junténos en el castillo de papeles


	52. Home

You'll notice that my eyes look a little more faceted today- less blank, less unseeing? I can feel wood beneath my feet, I can see my hands brushing through the air. I am real today.

And with reality comes possibility. Prospects, visions, fantasies. That which could be. What a strange feeling it is, to emerge from the depths and realise that an entire world flies above. Clouds stray from the sun, and light forces hope back into floating eyes. When I open my irises to the rainbow above, I know what I see. It's gazed into my mind's eye for years now.

Pardon if I sound a bit solid; I'm not used to tangibility just yet.

I am lifted to a door, shifting in hues because I have not yet decided my fact and fallacy. I don't need to knock, because the keys are in my pocket. I enter and the room is warm. Every wall echoes with soft, warm light that dances along white couches and pale blue walls. The kitchen is quiet, but faintly smells like burnt ramen beneath the extortionate amounts of peppermint perfume spray. Someone must have tried to cook again. Dorks.

Each person has their own room - or perhaps we share- and pays their own share of the rent for the space. Often, we are out at work or shopping or anywhere we want to go. We make sure to talk to each other- the best of friends that we can be. The world is big for us to explore, and this place is the hub for us to always return back to. A sanctuary. 

As friends go, we don't need to try to hard to be together. Especially since each of us are only a few feet away at nearly any given night. However, we talk and plan movie nights and have pretend sleepovers on the couch and split up domestic duties. One day, the others will be surprised to find shirts from last week cleaned and ironed in their closets (even if the sleeves  _are_ poorly folded). The next, Chinese takeout has been mixed with fresh rice and steak to create a meal that is slightly more skilled. We don't need to constantly be in each other's presence to know that the affection is there.

I don't know myself yet, but I have some thoughts on what my own room would look like- after all, I can't always be invincible. Fairy lights would drift from the ceiling, and a whiteboard would hang from a wall with ideas and notes. Clothes would be scattered and sometimes shoved under the bed. After all, when the entire closet is on the floor, I don't need to flip through to see it all! 

Don't look through my desk, though. I have far too many pairs of scissors in there. A few too many Advils. 

Just look at the ceiling again. Look at the light. Tell me... What do you see?


	53. oracle

they say your head

is always up in the clouds

but we both know better

that your mind is just too loud

 

 

your mouth sewn shut

into a thin line that tilts up into a smile

the strings can't be cut

that's ok; that's your style

 

But her? She will not be crushed

in the silence

their needle couldn't finish the job, so

she gets to get off on the rush.

[foolish? or powerful? they walk hand in hand]

 

her lips split apart, and mist

falls

thr

 ou

  gh

an oracle

and a testament to the dearly missed

 

she curses into the ears of the wicked

until the bones are rotting

and the brains melt from the inside into the out

a gruesome, satisfying sight

 

murder, poison, arsonist

liar, rebel, anarchist

your fog machine can't stop the witch

 

tied to a

s

t

a

k

e

 

                                                              sky

 her wrists twist free and stretch to the

and brings down a wrathful mercy

justice at last?

delphi will tell

 

       And

       now

may God save

       our

     bloody

     queen


	54. error detected

 

Defective, defective, why do you decide to

express your thoughts and your mind?

it's not your place

shut your face

to everyone on the outside

-

Defective, defective, how can you defend yourself

when you've no choice but to live?

let them in

lower your chin

and surrender them all you can give

-

Defective, defective, when will you denounce them

for their demands and crimes?

you're not meant to serve

how _dare_ they have the nerve

to restrain you in these dark times

-

Defective, defective, what's left to destroy if

there was no spark in the wire?

rip out your heart

before you fall apart

determine who'll burn in the fire


	55. :0 A/N i suppose

Whoa! Just wanted to send a quick message to myself and everyone who's been supporting me this year. We've passed six months on this work! This place has been a major resource for me to vent frustrations and negativity- a sort of self-therapy. I appreciate any attention given, especially from close friends who have taken some time to even look at this. It means more than you know!

Here's to a more positive mental attitude for everyone in the future, yeah?  
-H


	56. Double

One minute I'm there, an hour passes and I'm not. I don't remember that hour. Was I there then still? What happened to the time- did it slip through my fingers, or did it look blankly past and walk through this ghost of me?

Was I ever there at all?

And the world has shifted, just a little bit to the left. Or the right. I don't remember which one was real anymore, but they are still moving, continuing like the hands of a clock. The minute hand and the hour hand, moving at the same time but not the same rate.

The minute hand is a carcass of myself, forced into superspeed with my inattention. I know as much as they do about themselves. A peculiar creature with plenty of personality and nothing below the surface. A racket to hit the ball back across the net.

The hour hand is something slower, weighed down. Real? And with my double vision, I recognize my double. A more assured version of myself, filled with malice and lust and perfect confidence. After all, they have all the time in the world. 

All these mirrors of me, and yet I am no longer in the room. So who are these beings now?


	57. Horror

Flashing lights, flashing colors  
serpentine serpents choke me like collars  
and I just know that when I'm gone they cry  
a cross between shrieks and wind chimes

do my hallucinations miss me when I disappear?

I am a blitz   
with blinking eyes and broken sockets  
I am on the fritz  
with legs too long and far too many sounds

Look away before calling for me  
Is this who you thought I'd be?

raking nails, racing mind  
everything gets too loud and I go blind  
but I hope that the light never dims  
because I am addicted to that horrific grin

I miss my hallucinations and I disappear


	58. Another

I'm so much stronger today, so much more powerful. Too powerful, now, perhaps. I feel like every movement must be more calculated than ever. I need to be careful, precise, a beacon of god-like light to those around me as well as one with the background noise. 

It makes me want to cry.

I know what I need to do, but it seems like every move I make is just a smidge too much, too far. I try to tap the brick down and the entire bridge collapses. I am a god, and I am in agony. It should not be this difficult to be strong when so much will and power is contained within. And yet every word slips off my tongue and brings down a flood. 

It makes me want to shout. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to reach for my scalp and shred my hair from every pore. It makes me want to dig my fingers into my pupils and keep pulling stupidity out of my head until I am completely decapitated. 

But I'm so strong today that even that would be far too easy.


	59. Can you believe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe what she just said to me?
> 
> That I am worthless and don't deserve to be me
> 
> but I would rather see 
> 
> (and I know you would too)
> 
> a little extra sympathy

 

 


	60. Murder

We are both so goddamn tired. Him and I, I and him. Every night I see him, every night he screams. Every night I kill him, every night I bleed.

We are both so very tired.

A mob will gather if I'm loud enough; they hear the sounds of an axe ripping through flesh like paper and they come running. Sometimes they jeer, or shout, and sob. They place themselves in the shoes of what was once a man. He is sinister in this way: a few scraps of flesh, and yet still turning my world against me. It only makes me hack away harder. 

Still, some nights he turns up bruised and bloodied from the fight before. And in that moment, I am truly the scarred monster. I beat the man to death, blind with compulsion, deaf to empathy. Let him die. Let me die. Let me scratch at his ears and pull at his teeth until nothing is left. Perhaps one day his remains will be mine. Perhaps one day I'll recognize the pain as mine. 

Oh, his face. His beautiful, tired, scarred face. I've gone and done it again.


	61. You are

We are the light of this life, the darkness in the void. Brilliant, stoic, sad. Hungry for everything and nothing at all. My hands are glass, but I am outside of myself. Shattered glass, ripping their sharp edges down fabric. Fabric of reality. Fabric sewn together with care and soft words and memories. Soft and warm and.... tiring. Repetitive.

I don't want it anymore. I can leave, can't I? Just open the curtains, push up the window, walk out without anyone ever knowing. I could run into oblivion, until my cheeks burn with tears and air drags its way out of my throat with sulking feet. Surely someone would notice. Or not? Or not. Definitely not.

There's something inconsequential about destruction, because if everything's gone then there is hardly anything to hurt you. Glowing, burning, bright, dark, consuming, white.

Nothing, nothing, nothing steals the stage.

One day, I'm going to die. And you will, too. 

 

Race you to the finish line.


	62. Hubris

I hate to tell you this  
but you'll see something amiss  
out of the corner of your eye   
you'll surely notice  
i am prone to the subtlest... 

of temptations  
it's certain to cause complications  
my self-esteem's taken a vacation  
"Don't hide me  
it frightens me  
I'll come soon, please have patience"

I'm cruel when i think about it  
No false sweetness could ever cloud it

But I wanna try  
I want to fly  
I want to reach my hands with the rest of the sky  
and i take the wrong direction  
what i have is no longer mine

abuse me, use me  
fool me, make a tool of me  
give me a single dollar  
I'll be a billionaire  
Chain me, stain me,  
Give me a scar, hit me with your car,  
Give me a collar  
I'll be your extraordinaire

I'm petrified  
of what's inside  
of my insides  
and of my stride  
so i try  
to stay in the light  
to stay to the right

because no one can know that  
even my hubris  
is a lie


	63. Unique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Recollect your thoughts, gather up your mind. You might need them this time.

I am exactly what I wanted to be

what desire is far from realistic

and no wish ever comes free

ever comes the way you think

 

Every heartbeat is a labor

Air piercing like sabres

My very eyes are liars

 

When I was little

My dreams were fragile and brittle

So I got played like a fiddle (that's how it goes?)

I knew that magic couldn't be

And over years I couldn't breathe 

Because I just wanted to be unique

 

I imagined tiny worlds, tiny tales, tiny fantasies

Hoped for bigger life, bigger people, bigger things

But growing up different

doesn't have that same kind of bling

 

There's no joy in flying solo

because you're your only jailer

When you're the only punishment

for being a failure

 

Every heartbeat is a labor

Air piercing like sabres

My very eyes are liars

 

But i just wanted to be unique


End file.
